quicko: kim's blacklist

What's the point having a blog if I can't use it to blacklist genuinely bad institutions, hey? Well, today I'd like to perform my civic duty by warning you against the Customs House Library. Being that it is, from what I can tell, the major public lending library in downtown Sydney, you'd think it'd be decent. It's not.

First off, it's not free. You've got to pay $15 to join.

Second, you have to pay $1 every time you want to request a book they don't have. Which wouldn't be so bad, except for (see below).

Third, they never have any books you want. Quite possibly they don't stock them at all, though if they do they generally only have one copy, unless the book is popular, in which case they might have two. Three if it's Harry Potter.

Fourth, they do not have Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy or The Wednesday Wars. These, I feel, are important for them to have, not merely because they were written by one of my professors (who, might I add, was one of two who dared to give me a B+, but who I am still championing for as it appears no one else in Sydney can be bothered), but also because they happen to be Newbury award winning books. Surely the biggest library in the biggest city in Australia would get a copy of any Newbury award winning book? Or then again perhaps I should have checked to see if it has Pulitzer winners first. I'm not holding my breath.

Fifth, if they decide to take my recommendation and purchase The Wednesday Wars and inform me of that decision, I will still have pay $1 to check out the book because, as you will recall from point two, you have to pay $1 every time you request a book they don't have.

Sixth, and this is highly annoying, their fiction collection is divided into A-L and M-Z. This division in and of itself is not worthy of Nuremburg trials (even my fight against alphabetical prejudice doesn't span this far), but the fact that they are placed not only in two completely different rooms but on two different floors practically is. A-L are on (the illogically named, yet open and normal) level one, while M-Z are not even directly above them, but closed off in a silent room for studying on a 90 degree angle to them on level two. Far be it from you to be scanning, say, the Wodehouse section when suddenly you realize what you really want is a Fforde. At least you'll get your exercise, but forgive me if that's not what I thought libraries were supposed to provide. Different countries, different customs, hey?

And finally, and most importantly (the rest of this nonsense, nonsense though it is, I could live with), they are mean! Not just not nice, but rude on a good day and belligerent on a bad. A librarian made me cry -- a librarian!! Though it was only so extreme on one occasion, I have yet to have any librarian there regard me civilly. They purse their little lips and scan you over as if you're causing them severe delay by merely asking them to, say, check if a book is in shelving, which is, presumbaly, the job of a librarian. Or at least something that every other librarian I've enountered has done quite happily. These, though, don't seem to see their jobs as relating to anything with a bigger spine than a 12 inch cover. Consider yourself forewarned; read at your own risk.